Tristian: Prologue

[Luchi]

I figured I'd post some of my non-FE related written works here. The following 1800+ word prologue is a brief introduction to the FE-inspired JRPG I'm working on ( may put up a topic soon ). I have written some FE stuff, but the majority is AU. It has quite a few parallels to PoR.

Ianna ran.

She ran until she could no more, and finally collapsed onto the cold earth from exhaustion, her heart thudding like a bass drum in her chest. Had the downpour not drenched her to the skin, the now exiled Princess of Genoa would have realised that she was crying. She had lost her family, her kingdom and now she feared for her sole retainer’s life. The Lady Tristian had got her out of Castle Genoa at a great risk to her own life, and at a huge cost. The Silver Order; of whom Tristian had been at the head, had perished, all five thousand of them, while they had tried to buy the pair enough time to escape from the death trap that had once been Ianna’s place of safety and sanctuary.

The princess shut her eyes, wishing she could just block out those horrific memories and yet they played at the forefront of her vision; clinging to Tristian while the knight had coaxed her white Leonir out of the castle gates as quickly as she could, the sounds of death and destruction had assaulted Ianna’s ears, and moments where the young Princess had dared to open her eyes she saw towering pillars of purple flame. They had engulfed the castle ramparts completely. And those hundreds of black-robed men who had seemingly appeared from out of nowhere, decimating everything in sight with handfuls of black fire. She could also see him... her father’s murderer; a tall and fearsome looking knight clad from head to toe in spiky, dark-green armour and a tattered black cape, a terrifying helm covering his face and wielding a large, flame-patterned, bloodstained blade in her mind’s eye. Her father’s blood was on that blade, along with so many others who had died trying to protect Genoa’s last King. And now Ianna was the last remaining scion of that butchered line.

“She should have just left me to die by the side of my family”, thought Ianna bitterly, tears of grief running down her face. She could not bear these thoughts swirling around her head like a poisonous gas, those unbearable visions, the blood-curdling screams of dying men and women and the roars of the country’s Leonirs...

And yet deep down, she hoped the lady knight would come back to her. Tristian was all Ianna had left. She was but one soldier left of a proud Order. Ianna hadn’t forgotten the knight’s pained scream as one of those black fireballs had found their mark, yet she still managed to get them both out of Castle Genoa, beheading any fool daring to get too close to her as her fierce feline mount picked up soldiers like ragdolls before tossing them to one side. As long as she lived, the Princess could keep hoping. Her retainer would see her returned to the Throne. It was a tiny glimmer of light in her current darkness, but Ianna was grateful for it nonetheless.

She could feel a small bubble of hope burgeoning in her chest at the thought of that courageous woman, and the brief despair she felt was gone as quickly as it had come. Tristian would not die on her. She would let the seas of Greyland swallow Verdane before she ever gave up on her Princess.

The rain was starting to let up now, and patches of pale blue sky could be seen through the canopy of the Sylvan Forest.

The soft padding of gigantic paws made the princess look up, and she saw Tristian's Leonir, Roan, with his rider slumped over. Ianna’s heart momentarily stopped at the sight of this, fearing the worst.

The huge feline gently deposited his rider on the ground as Ianna got up, and she hurried over to where Tristian lay. She gasped at the amount of blood soaking her bodyguard's white tunic, and turned steadily a darker crimson the longer Ianna watched. Her armour was notched in several places, her red cape tattered.

She looked as though she had been through purgatory.

"Tristian...! Tristian, can you hear me?!" she cried, falling to her side as she fumbled for the regal mace at her waist; a staff imbibed with healing magic and passed down through the royal family for generations. Tristian merely groaned in response, too exhausted to draw breath. Her tawny hair was caked with blood on the one side and her pale face was smeared with dirt, grime and sweat. She had a rather nasty gash on one cheek and there was a large burn mark on her right arm as well.

Ianna tried to control her sobs as she focused in a certain way to harness the staff's healing capabilities, silently thanking the Dawn Goddess for that fact that Tristian was still alive. This beautiful and courageous woman, Ianna’s sworn protector and her sole surviving retainer, had rushed headlong into two companies of enemy soldiers, yelling her family’s war cry with Roan’s roars accompanying her, so she could give the princess enough time to flee... And Ianna had stood there, petrified, until Tristian’s strident words reached her as she looked back.

“Go, your Highness! I promise I will come back to you!”

With those words, the Lionhearted Warrior began tearing her foes asunder with her silver blade, dancing amongst them like a demon, too fast for the untrained eye to follow while Roan swatted them aside like flies with his mighty paws...

A gentle blue glow began to emanate from the tip of the decorative staff and Ianna passed it over Tristian, watching silently as the wounds began knitting themselves and the blood flow eventually stopped as the lady knight’s entire body was engulfed by the power of Valere Lucis. Ianna waited with bated breath as the light faded. The tawny-haired knight’s blue eyes opened wide and an enormous wave of relief swept over Ianna, and she let out an almost explosive sigh. Yet another fresh torrent of emotions washed over her as she took in her protector’s battered state.

“My lady Tristian...” she said in a constricted voice, taking hold of the lady knight’s gauntleted hand. “I am so relieved. For a moment there, I thought... I thought...” Her voice trailed off, then she noticed that the burn mark on Tristian’s arm had not been healed by her stave. “Your arm is still—“but the knight cut her off in mid-sentence.

“Princess Ianna, never mind me. Are you well?” asked Tristian in a tired voice as she sat up, trying to steady her breathing rate. Always, the safety of the princess was on her mind, even in her current state. Ianna shook her head, words failing her as she closed her eyes and more tears spilled down her face.

The chestnut-haired woman looked at her, and then glanced down at the dainty hand holding her own. She gave it a gentle squeeze and Ianna looked at her, then down at their grasped hands, realised what she was doing and hastily pulled her hand away.

“I am sorry, my lady Tristian. That was improper of me.” She said after a slight pause, keeping her eyes averted from the lady knight and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just... I...”

“It’s all right, your Highness.” Tristian’s voice sounded stronger now.

“I was so worried for you back there. The odds were against you, overwhelmingly so.” said Ianna softly, gazing at her protector, he green eyes still sparkling with tears.

“You are Genoa’s last heir, your Highness. I couldn’t let those soldiers get to you. Caeseria may have turned traitor against us and taken away your birthright, but they cannot take away my resolve to protect you.” said Tristian, looking at Ianna intensely. “If I were to die back there... then I truly would have failed you and King Auster himself, may Argi bless his soul.” At this, Tristian closed her eyes.

“My lady Tristian...”

“This is far from over,” she continued, her eyes still shut. “We may have lost more than two-thirds of our military in a single assault but we will fight back.” Tristian’s voice was passionate with conviction and it warmed Ianna’s heart. She opened her eyes and got up, staggering a little, brushing mud and dirt from her blood-soaked tunic and Ianna rose as well, silently relieved that Tristian was still strong enough to travel. Yet the knight herself was weary to the bone, having fought off so many traitorous foes and wished nothing more to just lie down and sleep.

But she resisted the impulse. Her main goal was to get the princess to a place of sanctuary, for she was in tremendous danger. She gathered herself together; making sure her bow and her sword was still firmly buckled on.

“I have already alerted Melchior of our plight. The border is not far from here.” said Tristian as she gazed skywards, trying to gauge the time of day.

“How long will it take to get there?” asked the princess.

“If we make haste, we should be able to reach it before nightfall. It is just before midday now, so time is on our side, for once. At least we don’t need to traverse this vast forest by foot”, she replied with a nod towards the Leonir, who was busy grooming himself.

Ianna could not help but suppress a smile. They were such proud creatures and so fussy about their appearance. Typical of a beast dubbed the ‘King of the Verdane Plains’. Enormous felines with large tufted ears, easily reaching four metres in length and standing one and a half high, their luxurious pelts varied in colour from storm-grey to pale blue, but all their manes (for the males) were jet black. Their powerful hind legs gave them remarkable speed for their bulk, ending in a vicious-looking forked tail. They had been tamed and trained by Verdane’s military since the days of Argi and were highly faithful to their riders, forging strong bonds with them, and possessed an acute sense of direction and smell.

“Roan can be surprisingly swift if he knows a decent meal is waiting for him.” At this, the feline gave a low roar in response. Tristian gave a slight smirk and added, “I don’t think he liked the taste of those Caeserian bastards. Maybe he’s a vegan.” Ianna gave a reluctant giggle. The knight was already lifting her spirits as she clambered onto the Leonir with Tristian’s help. Ianna gently placed her hands at either side of her knight’s waist as they settled into the large saddle covering the beast’s broad back. Tristian pulled gently at the reins and the Leonir stood up, waiting for directions and purring loudly, as he was eager to be on the move again.

“Okay, Roan. Let us make haste for Melchior! You had best hold on tightly, your Highness. Roan can really move if he puts his mind to it.” Ianna heard the smile in Tristian’s voice, even though she couldn’t see it. She nearly lost her balance as the Leonir lunged forward, and redoubled her grip on Tristian, pressing her face into her red cape as their mount streaked over the forested ground; hardly making a sound, it ploughed through the forest with impossible grace, towards Melchior’s border, which lay to the south of the Sylvan Forest.